"E-MALED"

	My co-blackmailers call me the sniffer. They say it with a lot of
respect because I do them a lot of good turns, just as they do me some as
well. What I am basically is a hacker, though not an especially skilful one.
What makes me the main man is because I work in a big company with a big
intranet to connect everybody's computers up. What nobody there has ever
suspected is that I've got some specially written packet sniffing software
installed in my PC and a second ethernet card on the network set up in
promiscuous mode.

	Promiscuous mode! Ha, I like that - being promiscuous is what it's
all about. That and being very, very careful. The allies would have rather
lost a battle in the war than let the Germans know that their Enigma codes
had been broken. I work on the same principle.

	The trick is the background software which looks at all the data
packages and only pulls out the IP sources and destination addresses that I
supply. And all that I'm interested in are certain e-mail addresses.

	Like I said, I work in a big building for a big company, and there
are over three hundred people using e-mail every day. Not only on the
intranet, but also out into the internet as well. I've long since acquired
all sorts of details about a certain type of e-mail user.

	What sort? The female sort, particularly the ones who been married
for a good long while and who outwardly look to be the most respectable women
around. I download as many of their mesages as I can find room for on my hard
disk. Then, before I go home, I run them all through a little search program
I've written. All it does it seek out a few key words: "meeting"; "what
time"; "when"; "where"; "usual place"; "after work"; "bar"; "husband";
"wife"; "excuse"; "love you". Those are just a few of my favourite text
recaptures. I also have quite a few crude words in the program as well.

	Yes, you've surely guessed it. I'm always on the lookout for those
naughty ladies having a bit of fun on the side with gentleman they are not
supposed to be having an intimate relationship with.

	Now you might think that in this technological age anybody with
enough brains to be allowed to sit behind a computer in an office would know
that e-mail and mobile phones are both about as private ways of communicating
as sending up smoke signals. Well, you might think that, but in most cases
you'd be totally wrong. Men and women alike seem blissfully unaware of how
total insecure telecommunications are at all levels. Still, I'm not
complaining, where would guys like me be if the world wasn't chock full of
fools?

	For a while, back when I was a kid, I thought about being a priest.
The attraction was the idea of being able to go into a confession box and
listen to everybody telling me all their darkest and dirtiest secrets. I gave
up on that idea when I discovered that priests weren't allowed to have sex,
but being an e-mail eavesdropper is probably even more fun because those gals
just let it all hang out.  'When a woman thinks, she must post'. That's what
Shakespeare wrote, or at least it's what he'd write now if he could see what
I do.

	Generally I have at least a dozen on-going targets provoking my
interest. But I'm never in any great rush. I want to know something about
each of them, apart from what I routinely hack out of the personal records
files. Basically, I want to know why a woman is having an extra-marital
affair. Is it because she's sick of her married life or is it because it
she's just become so mind numbingly bored that she has to have a little fling
now and then to keep her self respect?

	It's not that I've got any interest at all in being a marriage
guidance counsellor. What I want are the ones who are vulnerable to pressure.
The women who still value their marriage, just as long as they can escape
from it now and then.

	It's usually pretty easy to get an understanding of where a target is
coming from. The more concerned she is to keep everything secret, the more
she obviously thinks she has to lose. The more self excuses there are in the
posts to her lover the better. A guilty conscience is pricking her, though
probably not as much as he is. Normally there'll be at least a few posts
between her and her husband as well which give a pretty good indication of
the state of the marriage.

	OK, so by the time I've sorted through the targets' e-mail files I
can generally count on having four or five at any one time which look pretty
good. I mean they look pretty good as far as their correspondence goes.

	The next thing I want to know is what they look like in real time. I
stay as much as possible in my own little office and socialise as little as
possible with as few people as possible. Thats my nature, I'm just not very
good with people. Nobody worries about it because I'm a well known nerd. So
have to go out and take a quick peek at each target before I can grade them
for their sexiness. But I don't even bother to look at them unless they come
to work in their own cars.

	Almost always they do because the company offices are out of town and
a car is much the most convenient way of commuting to work. So what goes at
the top of the list is a good looking lady driving her own car and having an
affair she really wants to keep a secret.

	What I do next is keep a really close watch on her e-mail to find out
when the next assignation is going to take place. That part is easy, it's the
where which isn't. Sometimes a place will be mentioned, a bar or an hotel,
but more often than not its just 'your place', or the 'usual place'.

	Once upon a time the only way to solve that part of the puzzle would
have been to put on a trench coat and a trilby hat and trail the beauty to
her den of vice. What I do nowadays is to pull her auto licence number off
the company's personal records. Then, on the morning of the day the meeting
is due, I stop by the vehicle in the company car park and slip a small
magnetic box under the fender. Inside is a GPS receiver and a data collection
chip. The next day I collect the GPS, download it and plot the co-ordinates
on the local map. It takes me about two minutes to determine exactly where
the car was parked at the time of the rendezvous. Then I put a fresh roll of
film in my camera and wait for the next time the happy couple arrange a date

	When I first started thinking about all this I had some pretty wild
ideas of stalking each target and photographing them kissing their boyfriends
wildly on the doorstep. Real private eye work, hey, and maybe putting bugging
devices on the apartment windows and all that stuff. But why bother? You go
to the area, find the auto and then take a photograph of it, a long shot with
some other cars in the scene.Then you go away for half an hour, come back and
find some of the other cars have left and other ones have arrived. So you
take another shot, and maybe another one when the target's getting in her car
and leaving.

	If it's parked out in the street, some sunshine is handy, so the
shadows show the passage of time. Maybe it starts out sunny and then starts
raining. Again, the shots prove where her car has been parked, and that it
was parked there for some time. And I'll usually go through the same
procedure two or three times with each target before I've got the dossier I
want. The place, how often she's been there, the time she spent there on each
visit, and the photos of the car in identifiable surroundings and obviously
parked up there a lot of times.

	To round things off though it's nice to know exactly who it is she's
seeing. Which is where my little gang comes in. As soon as I've got that
first GPS download and I know the time she'll be back again I have one of
guys watching the area. If her car arrives when and where it should do he's
right on her case and tags along behind close enough to see where she goes
to.

	It wouldn't do for me to try that, naturally. I might be spotted,
though it's very unlikely. So, once I've got the dossier together, I send it
to the lady in question, with the photos and the address she's been visiting,
and suggest we have a talk about things.

	Of course I send it by snail mail. The last thing I want to do is to
have any of these morons realise that they were betrayed by their own e-mail.
All they're told in the letter is that they were seen leaving their car in an
areas where they don't live and the person who spotted them was curious
enough to find out what was going down. As a concerned citizen he's wondering
whether he should pass on all this information to her husband. Having looked
through the dossier, maybe she'd like to meet him and discuss what happens
next.

	So what does happen next? Here's a woman who knows she's in deep
shit, who knows her secret is already known to somebody who knows her, and
she doesn't have much choice but to go to the meeting she's been told to. I
usually arrange it at a McDonalds, which is a tad reassuring for her. After
all, nothing dramatic could ever happen at a McDonalds.

	So when she gets there she's met by my friend Gary. Gary is a big,
good looking guy who comes on like a car salesman. Whenever I see him I
remember Sir Charles Laughton's rueful words to Cary Grant: "It must be a
wonderful thing to look like you."

	So Gary greets Sue, sits her down, starts the talking whilst she's
still trying to figure out what's going on. Sure, he says, he knows about
what she's been doing because he was told by somebody who works at her
company. The same guy who spotted her sliding off for a little taste of fun
on the side and wrote her to come in today. Whoever it was told Gary as a
favor and now Gary wants to do a deal with her.

	Of course this throws the target. She thought she was going to meet
somebody she knew, not a total stranger. She certainly didn't expect anybody
like Gary. So what sort of a deal is he talking about and what's in it for
him?

	What sort of deal? Gary laughs and just then another of his friends
joins him at the table, another good looking guy. Well, says Gary, this has
happened before. The deep throat at her workplace has already put the finger
on another lady that was having a fling on the side. And since she was was
sinning already everybody figured a little extra sin wouldn't make much
difference. Even she decided that way eventually. Does the name Maria
Vincetti sound familiar?

	OK, let me tell you about an actual example that happened a week ago.
I'm in the hamburger restaurant as well but way back, almost out of sight,
and the woman who's just walked in looking very nervous is called Sue Sontag.
Now this Sue is one I've been tracking for a long time, a thirty something
year old blue eyed blonde with an excellent set of bouncers and a pair of
legs that look as if they belong underneath a Wimbledon champion, all curves
and muscles. On the few times I've actually set eyes on her she's looked as
as innocent of sin as a Sunday school teacher, let alone the respectable
married woman that she's supposed to be. Yet I know she's having a steaming
hot affair with a guy over on the other side of town, nipping over at least
twice a week to top up her tank with some high octane gas after years of
getting by on regularly unleaded. And I didn't say that, she said it herself
in her own e-mail to her boyfriend.

	But now she's worried, really worried, because it looks as if the
nice tidy pattern of her life is going to become really unravelled. Shame and
scandal and never able to show her face again on the PTA moral standards
committee. She's staring at Gary and Ed, and she hasn't got the slightest
interest in the glasses wearing geek taking an occasional peek over a
computer magazine at the other end of the restaurant. Hell, I could lay my
anorak over a puddle for her to step on and she wouldn't remember me from
work.

	Still, we've got to the interesting bit now. Does she know Mrs
Vincetti? I know that's the point in the spiel Gary has reached and I can see
that Sue is nodding.... sure, she knows Senior Office Manager Vincetti.
Everybody at the company is afraid of the bossy bitch. Gary grins and lays
down the instant print as if he was Wild Bill playing an ace in Dodge City.

	I see Sue's face suddenly tighten in surprise as she looks at it. Ms
Vincetti, on her hands and knees in a darkened room with a flashlight shining
on her from a few feet away. Ms Vincetti, as ever is, wearing nothing but a
silk scarf tied around her wrists, with her large tits getting a double
handed mauling from either side. Apart from the udder pullers another
athletic male body also looms against her from out of the shadows, thrusting
forward as he takes her from behind. The manager's hair is a mess, her mouth
is hanging open and despite her executive position she looks as if she's
getting quite a thrill out of her present position.

	Which, incidentally, is quite true. When she got the treatment she
went into convulsions at the first touch. By the time her saddle had been
filled and emptied four or five times she was virtually off the planet. But
that was then, this is now. Ms Sontag has taken five seconds checking out the
scene on the print and another five seconds looking up at the guys and
already she knows exactly what's in the deal for Gary and Ed - she is. She
can also see at a glance that they're serious, they've pulled this blackmail
stunt before and they've obviously been successful with it. Astonishingly
successful, to get a  strong willed bitch like Maria Vincetti to go along
with them.

	So while Sue is still staring at them with bulging eyes, Gary is
quietly and conscisely explaining exactly where things stand. If Sue wants
her husband left in happy ignorance then she's going to have to put out like
Laura Vincetti has done - but nobody is telling any stories in the offices
about Ms Vincetti, are they? And the reason for that is because Gary and Ed
are very, very discreet. Maria turned up when she was told told to and did as
she was told to, so Mr Vincetti never got to hear about her original
indiscretion and nobody at the company knows anything about this little faux
pas... Gary taps the photograph again. Nobody that dares talk about it
anyway.

	In the seven times we've played this scenario out we've had one
outright refusal, just one woman who threw the picture down and walked,
defying us to do our worse. I promptly sent her a letter asssuring her she
was quite safe and that nobody was going to tell on her secret. The last
thing I wanted was to have her feel she needed any help from anybody. A month
later the same woman saw Gary in the street and she virtually begged him to
start blackmailing her again. Once she stopped being nervous she was as
willing a fuck as any of the sluts we've ever slung up by their heels.

	Just now though Ms Sontag is still playing at being embarrassed,
blushing and trying to give the photo back to Gary. But then yet another
young guy comes along and joins the group, another hunk. Gary introduces him
as Don. Just as sure as if I was there I know that Don is asking her if she
likes the snapshot of Maria. I see Sue twitch like a hooked fish. She hasn't
been involved in this scene for five minutes and already there are three guys
sitting around her who all seem to know what's going down and ready to share
the action. Her rather pretty face is looking totally stunned and her bright
blue eyes are now trying to avoid all those male eyes staring at her tits. Ms
Sontag looks to me like a young lady who has suddenly realised that three
into one will go and that she's going to be the one. Or maybe she's just
wondering to herself if the gang's all here yet.

	I see Gary lean forward and put another photograph in front of her.
Another of the girls from the office - it doesn't matter which one, they're
all on the same theme, a spotlight in black surroundings centered on some
intimate hetrosexual activities by a multi-partnered lady. Sue seems
absolutely knocked out now - not so much by what's going on in the picture as
by the revelation that behind the respectable facade of the company there
seems to be all kinds of vice going on that she never even guessed at. God,
but I enjoy all this. I'm going to have to organise some kind of a meeting
place where I can vidotape the target's faces as they get the good word from
Gary and the gang.

	Gary waits until the first shock has subsided and then points out to
Sue that this girl also has the same scarf binding her hands together as Ms
Vincetti had. She remembers the red dragon on a white background design? Good
- he reaches into his pocket and gives Sue the very same scarf, draping it
across her wrists

	Maybe this is the best bit of all, seeing the shaken expression on Ms
Sontag's previously snooty features as she looks down at the scarf as if it
were a King Cobra that had just fallen on her out of the air conditioning
vent. She's had her guilty little secret found out by somebody, she still
doesn't know who. Now she's sitting here in a McDonald's being shown
photographs of supposedly respectable female co-workers whoring like harem
girls getting their yearly sheikup. It's also being made clear to Ms Sontag
that the guys responsible for taking these photos now have another little
project in mind. They've picked out another lady to be hog tied and fulsomely
fucked by one and all. And guess who's just gotten her draft notice?

	Sue sits and stares at Gary now, her mouth agape as he explains the
rules. About how she has to go into a completely darkened apartment.
Absolutely and completely pitch black dark except for a small flashlight
somebody will be holding. And as long as that torch is shining on her every
guy in the apartment will be able to whatever they like with her. She gasps
and almost spills her coke. I can feel my cock pushing up against the
underside of the table as I wonder how long it will take before she realises
that she's going to get laid in the dark so she can't recognise one of the
guys fucking her.

	Oh yes, I've had them all. Several times. We organise little parties
every so often when we bring back one of naughty girls to relive her wicked
past. Not too often, just now and then. Of course by that stage we don't need
to worry about threatening them with revealing their past affairs. All we
need to do is to show the snapshots we've taken since. We still do things the
same way though, carefully using the flashlight so we see everything the
woman has but they never see our faces. Ms Vincetti once called me in for a
conference about some database problems her department was having and she
clearly hadn't the slightest idea that the geek she was ordering around was
the same guy she'd blown off on her knees two days before. But one day I'll
make her do it right on her own office carpet.

	Yet although the targets don't know for sure who fucks them inside
that apartment, each of them has been shown pictures of at least one or two
other women in the company showing off their fannys by flashlight. They all
deny talking to one another about it but I don't believe that. I'm sure there
are some whispered conversations about it in quiet corners and I'd love to
eavesdrop on them. Because if I could I'd know for sure what I'm certain of
anyway - that most of the girls love going into that apartment, never sure of
how many guys are waiting inside for them or even who they are. They
obviously think that Gary and Grant and Don are always there, but they know
there's a fourth one as well. Probably the guy from work who started the
whole business.... but who is he!

	It must drive each of the bitches crazy sometimes, knowing that
there's somebody in the office who's not only screwing them whenever he feels
like it, but has a pile of porno pictures of the action.

	 The question right now, is does Sue want to run the risk of having
all that incriminating evidence sent to her husband? Or will she agree to end
up as another of Gary's gang-bang groupies?

	It's soon clear that she's not getting up and walking. One of the
guys gets another round of cokes and Ms Sonntag is still sitting with the
gang when he comes back, sometimes looking out of the window, but more often
blushing and staring around the nearby tables to make sure nobody else is
hearing what's being said to her. I'll hear it soon enough though because
Gary is wearing a wire and he just loves teasing each of the girls at this
stage of the game. Usually by showing off two or three pictures of our best
performing cocksuckers and asking if she thinks she's got as good a technique
as any of them?

	Ah, ah! Now Sue's stopped looking so embarrassed. She's not staring
out of the window now, not pretending to show some grace under pressure, but
looking at the pictures with real interest and almost on the verge of giggles
as she shows a lot of interest in what some of the good old girls can do when
they try. Especially Senior Manager Vincetti. I'm sure the guys are telling
Sue about old vacuum mouth Vincetti and how she could probably swallow a
python while it was still wriggling if she was turned on enough. And they've
got the snapshots to prove it. Ms Sontag stares at the pictures now without
any false embarrasment and doesn't even realise she's twiddling the scarf
between her fingers. Then Gary really gets her attention as he gives her a
piece of paper with the address of the apartment she has to front up at and
the time she has to be there.

	Every time we do this we always get some excuse  about how the time
is inconvenient. 'No problem' is the answer. What's wrong with now, what's
she got scheduled now that can't be fixed with a few phone calls?

	It doesn't pan out every time, but more often than not it does. This
time it seems to be OK because Ms Sontag is very soon calling somebody up on
her mobile and no doubt telling him she has to stay back at the office.
Probably her husband - I don't think she sees any need to worry much about
her lover. Her physical needs in that area look as if they're going to be
well satisfied in the very near future. So I'm looking at her talking on the
phone, pushing a stray lock of blonde hair away from her forehead. She seems
calm and relaxed and kind of smiles after she breaks off the call. It seems
as if everything is going to happen now. She just picks up the piece of
paper, looks at the address again and then walks out without taking a second
glance back at Gary and the rest of the studs. I guess she can be pretty sure
they'll overtake her on the way over. Probably at about a hundred miles an
hour.

	Me, I'm looking at those really sexy legs underneath that tight skirt
as I swirl around the last few pieces of almost melted ice in the bottom of
my coke carton. I'm in no hurry, I never drive fast. I know that the next
time I see Sue Sonntag's legs they'll be naked and stretched wide open and
with one of my friends between them balling her to hell and gone. I'll take
over the flashlight at the other end for a while and see how good her oral
technique is after all the recent practice she's just had. Then I'll screw
her myself, slamming into that set of nerve endings that is all she'll be
caring about by then and grinning to myself because I've broken her code. Her
and all the others who are going to get the same treatment because they
couldn't keep their hands off their keyboards.